


Calling

by facade



Category: Football RPF, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Detachment, Domestic Violence, Established Relationship, Homicide, Homicide-Suicide, Impulsive Behaviours, Infidelity, M/M, Manic Highs, Manic Lows, Pending Transfer, Possessive Behavior, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy who feels too little infatuated with a man who had felt too much...? His fingers traced the gloss of the image, his spirit trapped in the enigma of one long since departed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling

**Author's Note:**

> ****  
>  _Please read the tags for trigger warnings._   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Let him leave. Let him leave. Let him leave). "Okay. Go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why can't I English?

The other had said that he was leaving him, that he would be moving back to Manchester at the end of the season to be with “him” again. He had scoffed at the words; "he" was nothing more than himself, nothing more than another man who acted just like him, who carried himself in the same manner he had without the burden of having a ledger filled with yellow and red, a reflection of himself without the weight of his reputation. "Him"? He had to choke down a laugh though he verbalized his doubts of there ever being a successful relationship there. Regardless of how pointless such observations were as Cristiano would soon leave "him", would always come back to the warmth of his own arms and the security he had always provided him. More words, more threats fall on his ears: a mumbled "Junior is coming with me" as Cristiano turned his back to him with a sense of finality this time - that was different, a promise that "as long as [he was] alive, [the other] would never see his son again" ...(but he never took his son anywhere. There were certain things that he simply could not allow Cristiano to do).

He was used to an exchange of empty threats and shouted swears with the winger, was used to a showing of tears and raw anger, but there had been something different about this one: there was another man involved this time, another club, another country... and he had brought Junior into it. He knew better than anyone that as soon as the tactics were changed, that as soon as circumstances were altered... so were the results. A voice within him had screamed that this was it, that Cristiano was serious this time and that he hadn't shown the usual hesitancy within his decision to leave. Something within the Sevillan snapped and broke that night with the closing of the door, something within him was shattered and crushed to grainy bits as the Audi backed out of his driveway for what he supposed to be the last time. The confession of another man, the confirmation of the betrayal he had always suspected, had ripped right through him and the unwavering edge of the attacker's tone had ravaged his mind and his thoughts. He was damaged as he stood there, damaged and all but chained by the other man for once, but he hadn't been beyond repair. Not just then; if given the time and the benefit of an understanding ear, he could have been fixed, he could have picked up the pieces of himself from the rubble of them, could have bounced back... With a listening other and with the wisdom that can only be earned through age, he could have been salvaged, restored. (They could have been saved). For the time, however, he simply stood there. Still as he fell within himself. Still as he fell, crashed, and shattered over and over again.

The shift was sudden as the floor seemingly fell from beneath him, as the crash at the end of his repeated fall was soon replaced with infinite time and space. It was like falling into a void of indifference, like feeling your flesh turn to ink on a page before your very own eyes, blood and self falling flat in the 2D box of a comic book. Nothing there to anchor him to the everything that had once held him within the confines of skin and bone, his new-found relationship with nothing severing any thought that the body of the man standing there before him had actually been him. The man seemed to be just standing there: a face with features as blank as his mind seemed to be, eyes as red as the United kit he kept seeing flash before him, and he pitied that weak man standing there in self-despair. Red eyes transfixed on nothing, he watched as the weak man reached out and pulled a phone off of the bar top, watched as the thumb of the other pounded in a number he knew from somewhere, from some other time, but he couldn't quite place it...

There was a ringing sound within his ear but he could barely hear it, it seemed to be muffled in the same sense that a pillow muffled one's scream. Still, he waited for the soft click at the other end of the line as he fell further and further within himself, so far within himself that he was officially out of himself, waited for the yawn and the customary greeting of another or perhaps, perhaps he was waiting for something else. A muffled voice, Iker's voice, tunneled through the phone but he failed to react to the incoherent ramblings of the captain, failed to connect to the call despite that his phone was displaying otherwise...

Eventually, the murmurs of the keeper fell silent and gave way only to the sounds of their hushed breaths. Still Sergio stood within his void, floated within and around his nothingness, body lost somewhere within the sands of the past bearing the scar of what had been only moments before, light years before, eternities before... Still he fell further and further within himself, so far within he was even further away from it all. Still he was... still. Breaths forming words, words he held no sense of connect to yet still they were uttered, still he listened as the shell of his former self explained why he was simply standing there. He could hear himself - just barely - informing the captain that he was at the border of rash action, that he was flirting with stupidity and that his mind, his mind was far off from himself and that something about it wasn't right... So he had been cast out of himself out of a fear of himself, cast out to float off in the nothingness of the void. More muffled words on a blurring backdrop. "This needs to end, one way or another I'm going to end it." (Hand outstretched though the body was overwhelmed with stillness, desperate cries for help in spite of the words claiming he'd catch a handle on it all... Hand outstretched, desperately searching for a lifeline as the waves of indifference threatened to pull him further and further down within himself, out of himself. Hand outstretched, desperate for the other to pull him in). A breathy laugh and a dismissive sigh, cries in vain. "You're just being melodramatic, Sergio." (You're not treading hard enough against the current. You can get yourself out of there). "You will be fine, the two of you always are." (Don't worry, someone else will be there to pull you out of this. He always shows up for you). "This is just the way you guys love each other." (It's supposed to be this way).

A yawn tunneled through the earpiece followed by the muffled sound of a click, a red button pressed to secure the lifeboat back on the upper deck... and all was still again. The area around him, the thing within that body that had been encouraging his words, his presence, his everything... still. The thumb danced again on the sleek surface of technology, a weighted arm lifted a phone to his ear once again, and a muffled voice found his body from miles and miles away. (He needed him). "Dad?" ...and again he watched as the lifeboats were secured, as the life jackets were put aside for 'actual emergencies'. "Oh please, Sergio. He's just a, he's just a man in those respects. He's no good for you anyway, you know how much he gets around." (Lie on your back. Float on the surface). "You two are always doing shit like this to each other... Let him leave."

> **(Float on the surface. Let him leave. Float on. Let him leave. Float. Let him leave) …and a shift and a wave.**

They had training the next day and he knew that the other would be dropping his son off with his mother hours before he was required to go in, knew that the other would be driving past the home they had once shared within any given moment, and allowed the curtain to fall as the Audi finally appeared and disappeared from view. It was a given that he’d soon be following, it was accepted that he’d be at the facility later that day for training… but Cristiano never knew that Sergio would pull a gun before he ever said a word to him that day, never knew that the broken man behind the gun would end his life at a fragile twenty-nine years with a flick of the finger, a somewhat trivial clicking sound of his gun followed by a resounding - bang! From here, to metal, to gone. A body lifelessly thudding to the earth. (Let him leave. Let him leave. Let him leave). "Okay. Go... but Junior stays."

He could already hear the sirens of the police as he calmly climbed back into his car, knew that the police were already on their way to apprehend him when he left his blood covered other half lying against a backdrop of green and red on a pitch of the Cuidad. There were people who needed him elsewhere first, people who needed to hear of what had happened from him and no one else. He went to Cristiano's mother first and shouted his sins through the door for all within to bear witness, threw his transgressions through the the thick wood until he could hear Delores collapsing in grief on the other side... "Take care of Junior for him." His 'for me' remaining unspoken as he departed within himself: face held still and emotionless, he fell deeper and deeper within this. No tears. No grief. No remorse. Like informing her of a change in Cristiano's schedule, he simply walked away and climbed back into his car. He casually blurted out his confessions of the day to everyone he had encountered on his way out of La Finca: a random passerby and Fabio, not long after... a random passerby left in a state of paralytic shock, Fabio muttering 'that's not funny, that's...' before the sounds of police sirens slapped him with the realism of the confession. "Take care."

...and a shift. The world seemed to be closing in around him, caving in and crumbling to naught and the oxygen around him, it was too thick to breathe. Blurry color, blurry color turned gray. Blurry gray turned nothing, nothing, nothing. Tears were falling into his lap but he couldn't feel their cool moisture against his cheeks, he couldn't feel anything at all... and how could he when he was only half-alive? How could he when the other half of himself was now lying lifeless, motionless and still in the middle of a football pitch as the earth reclaimed his blood? He drove and drove and drove but he couldn't escape, couldn't leave Cristiano as he found himself to be held, anchored by the thought of him lying there, motionless - lifeless. He could hear himself muttering his ‘what have I done’’s over and over again, could see himself shaking his head in disbelief and could suddenly feel, feel the shock canvassing his features as he found blood spatter on his clothes, as he found the red of Cristiano amongst his nothings, hands trembling as he looked at the seemingly foreign colors. "No. No. No."

> **(Red. Red. Red. Blood. Blood. Blood) ...and a shift.**

He watched as his own foot pressed down against the brake of the car, listened as the car came to a stop and as the engine slowed its breaths to a steady, low hum, and watched as his own hand threw the gear shift into park. His once trembling hands were finally held steady around a metal hilt, his once quivering lips finally still as they wrapped around metal, a numb body suddenly feeling the weight of everything... A sound, a somewhat trivial clicking sound of his gun followed by a resounding - bang! From here, to metal, to gone.

...and a shift. One, two left orphaned with one, two shots of his gun.


End file.
